


Grenache/Garnacha

by Snid



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snid/pseuds/Snid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spice and cherry and simplicity at its finest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grenache/Garnacha

**Author's Note:**

> "Old vine grenache makes some of the greatest red wines of both Spain and Australia."

They fall into each other for the first time in a hotel in Almeria, Spain. Her lips taste of Garnacha wine – the spice and cherry flavoring thoroughly coating the tongue that he is now sucking on. Matt pulls away first and presses his face into her neck.

“D’you wanna?” he says, slurring the words into the column of her pale throat. He doesn’t explicitly state what he wants to do, but his intentions are clear as crystal, judging from the way his hands are sliding up and down her sides, fingers dipping dangerously low on her backside.

Karen tries to look down at his face, but the alcohol flowing through her system is making it difficult for her eyes to focus. Instead, she concentrates on the feel of his wispy soft hair as it brushes her cheek and nods frantically.

He moves his mouth back to her lips and she can’t remember having ever wanted anything else before in her entire life.

\--

Sunlight filters through the gap in the fabric curtains, but it hits her face in such a painfully perfect way that it’s enough to make her wince and roll over to bury her face into her pillow with a lavish groan.

However…

“Ngh,” rumbles the body next to her, as her roll is abruptly stopped by a mass of warm skin.

Karen’s eyes fly open and sobriety hits her like a train. “…Matt?” she asks haltingly, despite knowing fully well whose naked body is tucked under the stark white hotel sheets next to her.

Matt moans and rubs at his face. “Kaz…I…oh fuck,” he says suddenly, and bolts upright. When he meets her face – which is still half tucked into a pillow – she can see that his eyes look wild, like a startled deer.

“Oh god, oh fuck…did we…last night…oh fuck,” Matt says, burying his head in his hands.

“That would about sum it up, I think,” Karen quips, sitting up slowly, pulling the sheets with her.  She feels the dull ache between her thighs and recalls how it got there – turning a delicate shade of red at the faint memory of him dragging his lips across her abdomen and moving his head down between her thighs.

Matt turns to her and his expression is unreadable - a difficult feat, especially considering how long they’ve known each other. “And you’re okay with that? With what happened?”

Karen lets the sheet slip down to her waist and Matt averts his gaze, finding that his hands have suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. “I don’t know if I’m okay with it,” Karen says. “But it happened and we can’t change that and we’re still friends, got it?”

Matt turns to her again and his eyes drift across her form: skirting along the lines of her hips peeking out from under the bed sheets and the contours of her breasts.

“Yeah, still friends.”

\--

So they shower separately and put last night’s clothes back on and go out to find food, stumbling across a Burger King where Matt tries to place his order in a horrible Spanish accent and Karen laughs.

And, of course, they spend the next two years pretending that it never happened.

 

* * *

 

Things go differently in Australia.

They’ve dubbed these conventions as the reunion tour for “Karen and the Babes”  - and at one point, even decided to do a brief cover of “Wrecking Ball” by Miley Cyrus, which consists mostly of Arthur and Matt attempting to sing seriously while Karen barrels into them at full force when they hit the chorus.

In front of a crowd of about 300 people, no less.

And for what it is, it’s a good show. A well-received performance by an ensemble cast for the ages: a man and a woman who are pretending that they are not being slowly suffocated by a one night stand that’s approaching its second anniversary versus a man who has long since grown tired of watching two people who mean the world to him not realize that they mean the world to each other.

So, in honor of their reunion, Arthur takes it upon himself to work his magic.

\--

“No more American men,” Karen announces, barging into Matt’s hotel room. Her red sunset colored hair is cut close to her ears, the makings of a gloriously ginger pixie cut in the works. The boys look up from where they are sprawled out on the floor, their backs propped up by the bedframe of one of the two queen-sized beds in the room. 

“Huh?” Arthur says, passing a bottle of Grenache wine to Matt, who promptly takes a hearty swig.

“Leave some for me!” Karen cries out, slamming the door behind her and moving to take her rightful place: a spot on the wall, effectively seating herself across from both of them.

She’s wearing jeans and a crop top – exposing the pale skin of her stomach to the elements.  Normally, the pink sneakers she has on would’ve made Matt laugh and given him enough material to poke fun at her for hours, but now – with the wine beginning to run through his system – he simply passes the bottle to Karen. She takes it from him, raising her eyebrows briefly, before tilting the rim up to her lips and drinking long and deep.

Matt pretends not to be fixated with the way her throat moves as she chugs the wine, while Arthur rolls his eyes and makes a move towards her.

“Don’t you dare drink it all,” he says, as Karen tries to bat him off.

“Fuck off, Arthur. I need to be a lush right now.”

“Why?” he asks begrudgingly, conceding to whatever game she has already won in her mind.

“Because American men – specifically those living in the city of Los Angeles – are driving me mad and I will never shag another one for as I live.”

This piques the attention of Matt, who is no longer thinking about where on Karen he wants to put his tongue and is now thinking about where strange American men have put theirs.

“Pass me the bottle,” Matt says quietly, and Karen obliges him, blowing a raspberry at Arthur as she does so. Their fingers brush in the brief exchange and Matt refuses to meet her eyes, instead gripping the bottle hard as he presses the glass brim to his lip. The hearty, slightly warm liquid pools in his mouth and runs down his throat, leaving behind a fruity aftertaste.

The air between them grows quiet, but not awkward. It is the easy, comfortable silence of three friends who are simply basking in the company of each other.

And it would have stayed that way until Arthur is passed an empty bottle, announces that the other two are “wankers”, and gets up to go retrieve another from his room. 

From there, things promptly go to hell in a hand basket. 

\--

The air between them is vibrantly electric. 

The warm haze from the wine doesn’t do much to quell the pounding of her heart against her ribcage. Karen concentrates her efforts on picking at the dull mauve colored carpeting as a means by which to distract herself from the sheer overwhelming presence of him.

Matt, however, has been staring.

She wishes that he would stop because it’s so hard to pull apart fabric strands when one of your best mates is slightly buzzed and his eyes are beautiful and green and boring their way through your skull and right now she can’t, she just _can’t_.

“What?” Karen snaps, though she really doesn’t mean to. All the same, the alcohol and the anger zipping through her have other ideas. 

“We had sex,” Matt says, matter-of-factly, and it’s almost as if someone has dumped a bucket of chilled water on top of her.

“Two years ago. And I said it was cool, yeah? We’re still mates. It’s all good,” she says brusquely. The blank look on his face has her anger melting away into slight confusion, so she offers a small quirk of her lips. “We’re all good, Matt.”

He flicks his fingers against the empty bottle left behind by Arthur, the hollow noise dancing across the empty space between them. “Are you sure?” he asks, head bent back against the bed.

Karen adjusts herself, scooting across the floor until she’s slouched next to him. “Does it bother you?” she half-whispers, watching his fingers as they pick at the label on the wine bottle. “The fact that we had sex?”

Matt shakes his head. “It’s stupid. I’m stupid. Forget everything, okay?”

Karen takes the bottle and places it behind her, out of his reach. She twines her thin fingers with his long, broad ones and rests her head against his shoulder. “You’re not stupid, Matt,” she asserts. “Not even a little bit. We were drunk, and…and things got out of hand, so you’re not stupid and it’s not your fault or anything like that because we’re both adults so –“

She’s cut off by the warmth of his mouth. The shock of it wakes up her slow, wine-dulled senses, but then it’s over as suddenly as it began. Karen hadn’t even managed to close her eyes, so instead she is left to blink at him rapidly in response.

“Sorry,” Matt mumbles and attempts to rise to his feet, but Karen is quicker: grabbing his forearm and pulling him back to the floor. He sinks back down and she wraps her arms around his neck, contorting awkwardly against his chest.

His arms come around her gingerly, his hands doing nothing more than simply resting on her back. “Matt…” she says, trailing off on a sigh.

There are tears now, and that’s how he knows he’s had too much to drink. The corners of his eyes are burning, but he refuses to cry in front of Karen – _especially_ in front of Karen. And _especially_ now, when he can practically feel what’s left of their friendship dissolving.

The combination of her sporadic visits to back to the U.K. and her ever-increasing amount of American lovers had taken its toll on him. He had been willing to wait it out, in the hopes that maybe one day she would come back to her flat in London and they would curl up together on her bed and he would breathe her in every night until the end of his days.

But nothing is ever quite as simple as that. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” Matt murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. Karen doesn’t respond; she just starts stroking his hair, running her fingers through the thick brown mess atop his head.

It’s a while before Karen speaks again, the sun having long since dipped down below the horizon.

“Could you wait for me? A little longer?” she whispers in his ear.

“I could wait forever,” he replies. 

He doesn’t see the smile she buries into his shoulder.

 --

“You ditched us!”

“No, I went to get more wine and then conveniently did not return, which gave you and Matt some alone time.”

“Arthur?”

“Yeah, Kazza?”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

 

* * *

 

They fall into each other for the second time in a hotel in Almeria, Spain.

Their lips have the faint taste of Garnacha wine and it amazes them both how well they fit into each other’s bodies – Karen’s pliable curves pressing sinfully against the hard lines of Matt’s torso.

“D’you wanna…?” he mumbles, trailing off as pulls back. His hands are cradling her hips, thumbs rubbing circles into her skin. He isn’t explicitly stating what he wants to do, but his intentions are clear as crystal, judging from the way he turns his mouth up in a small smile.

Karen tries to meet his gaze, but his face is too close to hers and the alcohol flowing through her system is making it difficult for her eyes to focus. Instead, she concentrates on the feel of his lips when he leans forward to brush them against her cheek and nods frantically.

Matt moves his mouth back to Karen’s and she can’t remember having ever wanted anything else before in her entire life.

**Author's Note:**

> Do I have an explanation for this? Not really.


End file.
